


Faces

by Lord_of_the_Snakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_of_the_Snakes/pseuds/Lord_of_the_Snakes
Summary: Riddles are reflected in faulty mirrors. They are shown in flawed reflections.(Poems about the Riddle family.)





	1. Face of the Son

Look unto the face of the father.  
Look into his eyes and say, "You know who I am."  
Is it guilt that leaves his protests, his denial, stuttered and stilted?

Is it guilt in his eyes?  
It will not be known.  
It shall not be spoken of.

This man is weak, a flawed reflection.  
And so, it is not pitiful to cut away such things.  
It is a right. One as fundamental as freedom and liberty.

Look unto the face of the father.  
Look into his fearful eyes, holding the gaze of a serpent for the sake of pride and say, "It's me."

Is it fear that leaves him shaking?  
Is it being held in the maw of the beast that makes him sob?

If it is so, then it is the only thing known.  
It is all that shall be seen.

This man is stoic, a flawed reflection.  
And so, it is emotion, the wicked blade that will cut away such things. It is only right. It's the only thing that could be asked.

Look unto the face of the father.  
Look into his eyes, cold and bitter, and say. "Your son, Tom."


	2. Face of the Father

Look unto the face of the son.  
Look into his eyes and say "I do not."  
Is it sorrow that leaves his words shaky and soft?  
Is it sorrow in his eyes?

It will not be known.  
It shall never be asked.  
This boy is pitiful, a flawed reflection.

As with all pitiful things, it is not cruel to cut away such persistence. It is a God given right. And God is cruel and unrelenting and hateful.

Look unto the face of the son.  
Look into his wet eyes, searching desperately for something--anything--for the sake of hope and say, "I do not care."

Is it want that makes him stay?  
Is it being filled with hope, that makes him bear the falcon's talons?

If so, then it shall remain unseen, unwanted knowledge.  
It is to be ignored.

This child is emotional, a flawed reflection.  
And so, it is stoicism, the iron fist that shall batter the broken back. It is all that can be done. It is all that could have been.

Look unto the face of the son.  
Look into his eyes, harsh and vengeful, and say, "You are not my son."


	3. Leviathan

Oh Leviathan, king of serpents, hiss your anger to the cold, unforgiving world. 

Hiss your sorrow with venom lacing every sibilant word. For anything less then poison will be your death.

Is it jealousy, envy, that bleeds from your fangs? Is it want, writhing and wretched, lonely serpent? 

Both will taint your toxic. Harden your heart, Leviathan. 

You are to be an incendiary, blazing and brilliant and blooming.

And to defy this is to defy God.

Oh Leviathan, living flame, you are to burn.


End file.
